


The Game Stays the Same

by Aviditas04



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviditas04/pseuds/Aviditas04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story and a challenge for any interested. Rhaegar has won the Battle of the Trident, yet when you fast forward 18 years, things appear much the same. Rhaegar has lost his Hand of the King, the Lannisters and Baratheon brothers plot to seize the throne, and Viserys and Daenarys are still in hiding in Essos. No matter how the Game changes, in some ways it stays the same.  No matter what, when you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Fall of the Crowned Stag

**The Game Stays the Same**

**Prologue: Fall of the Crowned Stag**

 

_The Trident, Red Fork, Riverlands-Year 280 A.L.-Rhaegar_

 

Six months and five battles into Robert Baratheon's rebellion, and three months since Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had seen his beloved, pregnant wife, Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar with 40,000 men was now facing the most dangerous man in the rebellion: Robert, Lyanna's former betrothed and best friend to her middle brother, Lord Eddard 'Ned' Stark and their 35,000 strong battle-hardened army. His squire, one Daemon Sand reached for his ceremonial armour, but Rhaegar shook his head. “No Daemon, not that one. This is one battle where I will need every bit of speed I can get, and that one will not help with speed. It has rubies embedded in it for the Warrior’s sake! Get me the one from Tobho Mott.” Obeying his master, Daemon reached for the lighter but stronger armour from King’s Landing. Once fully armoured, Rhaegar headed out to face the rebel forces.

 

When Baratheon laid eyes on him, he roared out " _Targaryen!_ " and charged him. After a duel that seemed like it took hours, but was in reality only 15 minutes, Rhaegar dodged the dangerous war hammer that the young stag wielded, and quick as a snake, thrust his sword through the joints of his armour into the flesh of Baratheon’s right arm. The other man gasped in pain, allowing Rhaegar to strike again, this time at the man’s left leg.

Rhaegar expected another reaction to the pain, but Baratheon was lost to the berserker rage and swung at him. The last dragon quickly rolled away, and sliced off Robert’s right arm as he moved. “Yield, Baratheon,” he demanded.

“NEVER! For Lyanna!” he screamed as he tried to lift his hammer. Rhaegar sighed and with a single blow, took the other man’s head. Turning to his squire and Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, he ordered a quick retreat. The Battle of the Trident was over. Now, the real work began so that the Seven Kingdoms could heal from the rebellion.

 

The next day, Rhaegar, Daemon and Ser Barristan approached the rebel army under a flag of truce. The remaining leaders of the rebellion: Lord Hoster Tully of the Riverlands, Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale of Arryn, and Lord Eddard ‘Ned’ Stark of the North were very curious, especially as they did not expect such a reaction to the Battle of the Trident, very unlike a Targaryen. So, the three men met with the prince and his companions, while ordering their cooks to prepare a noon-meal worthy of their counterparts. When the six had sat down, it was Rhaegar who spoke first. “Lord Stark, Lord Arryn, Lord Tully, thank you for meeting with me.”

“Why did you come here, dragon prince?” Jon asked.

“Because I want one thing, Lord Arryn: peace. And with Robert dead, I doubt that the rest of you are quite as . . . _determined_ to continue the rebellion. Speaking of which, why _was_ Robert so determined to kill me?”

“Because you kidnapped Lyanna Stark, his betrothed!” Hoster Tully answered.

Rhaegar stared at the Lord of Riverrun and, to everyone’s surprise, burst into the most sincere laughter that the three men had heard. When he finally stopped laughing for lack of breathe, he explained “I’m sorry my lords, but the very _idea_ that I could force Lyanna to do anything is _absurd!_ Don’t you agree, Ned?” he asked the Lord of Winterfell.

While Ned Stark was upset that the prince used his nickname, he also chuckled at the idea of anyone forcing his sister to do anything. “You’re right, Rhaegar. If someone tried to get my sister to do anything she hated, she’d hate it all the more. If someone tried to stop her from doing something, she’d want to do it all the more! So, I’m guessing that she went with you of her own volition?”

“Actually, she came to me! She told me that she wanted to escape her betrothal to Robert. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss in order to end this war?”

“Your father,” all three answered. Hoster, as the oldest, decided to expound on that point. “Your father has gone completely insane since the Defiance of Duskendale, and nearly all of our families have suffered as a result. Something _must_ be done about Aerys, or this rebellion will only be the prelude to something worse.”

“I was already planning on making some changes, but since you insist, I will remove my father from power.” Ser Barristan was about to object, but Rhaegar cut him off. “I’m not talking about killing him, my friend. The gods hate a kinslayer, I am talking about what an old acquaintance called a coup d’etat. I will send my father to a quiet holdfast with men to serve him.”

“A hall to die in and men to bury him, you mean,” Ser Barristan replied.

“It’s better than he’d give any of us, and you know that. It’s not for no reason people call him the Mad King.” The rebel lords, and his loyalist companions looked at the prince in shock. “What? I know my father better than any man alive, did you really expect me to miss the fact that he’s insane? But right now, let’s talk about what happens after the coup. In order to build the friendships between our houses, I suggest that the three of you each foster one of my children.”

“And who will be left out, Rhaegar? You only have the two children,” Hoster pointed out.

“Two, at the moment. I’m expecting word from the Tower of Joy any day announcing the birth of my third child. Lyanna’s convinced she’s having a boy.”

“Lyanna’s pregnant?” Ned exclaimed.

“Yes, and I insist that you foster the child. I’m sure that my son would love to get to know his uncle, and it will give Lyanna more excuses to visit Winterfell.”

“Visit?” Jon asked.

“Lyanna insisted that as we are married, that we act like it, and as such, she’s going to be living with me and Elia in King’s Landing. But she is a Stark, and I always knew that she’d be returning to Winterfell every once in a while if only to visit her favourite brother. But if you foster our son, Ned, I’m certain she’d visit at least once a year.”

“My king, I would be honoured to foster my niece or nephew in Winterfell.”

Rhaegar smiled at the man he believed could become a good friend, given time. “Good, now we only need to decide which of you is going to foster Aegon, and which will foster Rhaenys.”

“I would like the chance to raise another daughter, my liege,” Hoster answered. “I never got much of a chance to spoil Cat or Lysa, and the gardens of Riverrun are the one of the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“After fostering Ned _and_ Robert, I think I can handle young Aegon,” Jon said. “After all, those two were extremes when it comes to young men. How hard could someone falling between them be?”

“Then it’s settled! Peace at last. Now all we need to do is end the siege at Storm’s End and dethrone my father. Ned, I’d like you to take a century and head south to Storm’s End and convince the Tyrells to end the siege. After that, go down to the Tower of Joy and visit with your sister.”

“Gladly, Your Grace, but what about Stannis?”

“Stannis Baratheon did nothing worth punishment. He held Storm’s End, nothing more. He is to keep his lands and title so long as he swears loyalty to me. If he’s knighted anyone, then back him up, especially if you agree.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

 

_King’s Landing, the Crownlands-Jaime_

 

Ser Jaime Lannister, youngest member of the Kingsguard in history, looked out one of the windows in the Red Keep at the approaching Lannister army, and he knew what it meant: the rebels had won and now his father was going to sack the city. And worse, now he would be expected to turn against his oath as a member of the Kingsguard, and _kill_ the man he was sworn to protect. Jaime wasn’t to upset about killing Aerys, he was completely insane, the problem was the fact that he had sworn a vow to protect the man with his own life. He slowly wandered the castle, pondering his dilemma when he ran across Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia. The queen gave him a look and asked outright “Are you here to kill us, Lannister?”

Right then, Jaime made his choice about where his loyalty lay. “No, I’m not, my queen. I’m here to tell you to get out of King’s Landing, now, and take your children. Run to Dragonstone to have your child, my queen, then both of you need to escape to the Free Cities. Robert won’t stop hunting you until all of you are as dead as Rhaegar is.”

“NO!!! I _told_ Rhaegar that marrying that Stark girl would be trouble, but he wouldn’t listen, and now he’s dead!” Elia simply broke down after that. As she did, an enormous explosion rocked the city.

Jaime looked up and quickly spotted the reason: green fire rose from the Dragon Pit that lay northwest of the castle. “And I thought Aerys was mad before. Listen, you need to get out of here, _now!_ Aerys is setting off stashes of _wildfire_ in the city! Get out, before it’s too late!” Jaime then turned towards the throne room, where he knew he’d find the madman responsible for this.

As he marched towards his appointment with destiny, Jaime could clearly hear the Lannister soldiers rushing through the castle and could only hope that the women and children escaped. When he reached the throne room, he found Ser Gregor Clegane, one of his father’s bannermen at the foot of the enormous throne. “Lannister! Kill the traitor, let him burn!” Aerys commanded.

“Are you really going to listen to that madman?” the Mountain asked.

“No, I’m not going to stop you,” Jaime replied. And with that, the Mountain charged up the iron stairs to the old king and stabbed him through the heart. But unbeknownst to the giant, Jaime followed him, and before he could pull his sword out, Jaime stabbed _him_ in the back. “I said I wouldn’t stop you, Clegane. I never said anything about avenging him. I am a member of the Kingsguard, and I shall die a member of the Kingsguard.” With that, Jaime pulled his sword out, and let both men fall down the steps to the pavilion at the base of the throne. He then turned around and sat on the Iron Throne. “Hmm, the legends are right, this thing is _really_ uncomfortable.” As he sat on the throne made from 1,000 swords, he heard the sound of a storm of swords clashing in the city beyond, and the rush of a second explosion as Flea Bottom was destroyed in a matter of seconds.

 

_Storm’s End, Stormlands-Stannis_

 

Stannis was just finishing his share of the salt beef and onions when the newly-knighted Ser Davos Seaworth came in proclaiming “Milord, there’s a small group of men coming, they’re flying Stark banners.”

“Stark, eh? So he finally remembered us. How many men does he have? I wouldn’t have thought the North had enough men to defeat Tyrell’s men.”

“Sir, I doubt he has more than a hundred men with him, assuming the man I saw is Lord Stark.”

“ _What?!_ Stark expects to break the strength of the Reach with only a hundred men? Is he mad? I have to see this.” And with that, Stannis Baratheon ran for the parapets, with Davos right behind him. To their combined shock, Ned Stark had been shown straight to Mace Tyrell, and half an hour later, he and his men were allowed through the Tyrell lines, while the Tyrells prepared to break camp. When Ned came up to Storm’s End, Stannis called down “So, Stark, finally remembered us? And what’s going on? Have you turned traitor, or did the Tyrells join us?”

“Neither, the war is over, Stannis, and I came as soon as I could. Before you start blaming me for the siege, try to remember that the North is the size of the other six kingdoms combined, and it takes time to gather and organize my bannermen, especially as we have only a handful of horses. Now, Lord Stannis, open the gates and feed your people.”

“ _Lord_ Stannis?” Davos questioned. Last he had heard, lords didn’t call the younger brothers lord. Also, Robert was Lord of the Stormlands, and Stark was his friend, so why would he call Stannis ‘lord’? The reason became clear when Davos saw Lord Stark holding a ring and presenting it to Stannis. Robert Baratheon was dead, otherwise nothing, not even the White Walkers could have taken the Baratheon ring from his hand. None but the goldsmiths knew what caused it, but only the lords of the noble families could wear the house ring, and none could take it off until death. And now he was sworn to Lord Stannis Baratheon of Storm’s End.

 

_Tower of Joy, Dorne-Eddard_

 

As soon as Ned Stark lay eyes on the Tower of Joy, he spurred his horse onwards, anxious to see his sister for the first time in a year, and his first nephew. When he came into view, his generous feelings towards Rhaegar I changed into genuine fraternal love for the young dragon: he had left not one or two, but _three_ members of the Kingsguard to protect Lyanna and her son. And not just any three, but three of the best: Ser Arthur Dayne, called the Sword of the Morning, Ser Oswald Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower. "Greetings, sers, I wondered where you were. I looked for you on the Trident."

"We were not there, and woe to the Usurper if we were," Ser Gerold said.

"He is already bemoaning the fact that His Grace was there," Ned answered him.

"His Grace wasn't at the Trident," Ser Oswald said in confusion. "King Aemon doesn't leave King's Landing any more."

"The Mad King is dead," Ned corrected him. "Dead under the blade of Ser Gregor Clegane, who was killed in turn by Ser Jaime. Rhaegar is king now, and he is the one who killed Robert."

"Then why are you here?" Ser Arthur asked. "Rhaegar must have been the one who told you about this place, and what is here, so why?"

"Why else but to see my sister and be with her when my nephew is born? As His Grace is re-establishing order in King's Landing, he asked me to be here in his place. May I pass?"

Ser Gerold considered his request before deciding "If you leave your weapons with us, Lord Stark, and swear to us that you are loyal to the king."

Ned quickly agreed to the terms, and fifteen minutes later, he had reunited with his sister and updated her and her midwife, a Dornish woman named Wylla, on everything that had happened since Robert started his rebellion. As soon as Lyanna heard what happened in King's Landing, and that the Lannisters had killed Elia and her two children, she collapsed and went into labour. When she had recovered enough, she grabbed Ned's hand and demanded "Ned, you promise me that you will protect my son! Do _not_ let him share the fate of his brother and sister! _Swear it!_ "

"I swear on the tombs of our ancestors, by the Old Gods and the New that he shall live, and one day wear his father's crown, Lyanna." Lyanna accepted the vow, and after 13 hours of hard labour, finally gave birth to her son, whom she named Balerion. Unfortunately, she started haemorrhaging as a result of giving birth, and died only an hour after giving birth to the new Dragon Prince.


	2. Winterfell

**The Game Stays the Same**

**Chapter One: Winterfell**

 

　

_Winterfell, The North-298 AL-Eddard_

 

Eighteen years had passed since Robert had died at the Trident, and the realm had celebrated, for the most part. As vengeance for the sack of King’s Landing and the murder of his family, Rhaegar had forced Tywin to pay all the costs incurred by the war, including rebuilding King’s Landing. The ruins of the Dragon Pit had been turned into a park/godswood, and Flea Bottom was rebuilt into the grandest part of the city, other than the Red Keep. As a reward for his stubbornness and skill at holding Storm’s End, Stannis was given the royal castle at Dragonstone, which had Stannis complaining for a few years until, without warning, he shut up about it. His reason for actually _smiling_ when he was called the Lord of Dragonstone was only known to his closest friends, like the truly honourable Ser Davos. The famed Cersei Lannister was married to the young Garlan Tyrell, a very lucky marriage for the second son of Mace Tyrell, and one that had already resulted in three children. At the Twins, House Frey was judged by the gods for their actions, or lack thereof in the rebellion. Despite owing allegiance to House Tully, they did nothing during the rebellion, to the point of camping just out of sight of the Red Fork despite the battle. When plague struck the Twins, and nearly the entire family was wiped out, everyone knew it was the gods’ judgement for their lack of loyalty. The plague so decimated the Freys that Lame Lothar Frey, Lord Walder’s twelfth son was the current heir to the Twins. Of course, with Walder Frey being who he was, the Frey’s numbers were quickly recovering.

Things in King’s Landing continued much as they had for the past three centuries, the Targaryens continued to rule, (though Rhaegar had refused to marry again,) the members of court continued to play their game of thrones, and Varys continued playing Spider. An old friend of Cat’s named Petyr Baelish had joined the Small Council as Master of Coin, Rhaegar had called his own old friend Jon Connington out of exile and named him Hand of the King (at least until Connington was killed in battle, then Jon Arryn became the King‘s Hand,) Stannis became Master of Ships, the young Renly Baratheon became Master of Laws and Ser Arthur Dayne became the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

As for Ned personally, life couldn’t be going better for him. Sure, Cat had been mad at him when he arrived at Riverrun with Balerion, or Jon Snow as he was currently called, but she calmed down when he told her and Maester Luwin the truth at Winterfell. As she saw it, how could she not be glad that her nephew was being raised with them, and it gave their own son, Torrhen a boy his own age to play with, even if he was believed to be a bastard. Their family had grown large and happy. Cat had given him two daughters: Sansa and Arya, and two more sons: Bran and Rickon, named for his late father and brother. They had another member of the family, Theon Greyjoy, who had joined them after his father, Balon, had rebelled against Rhaegar a mere four years after Robert died. After the rebellion had been crushed, Theon was taken as a hostage to ensure Balon’s good behaviour, but had quickly become a member of the family.

Torrhen was quickly growing into a man that would be a great lord and a great man, there was nothing he could do that could possibly make Ned more proud. Sansa was a beauty and a true lady, one that the Southern ladies would welcome as one of them. Arya was a wild one, her Aunt Lyanna reborn, far more interested in learning to fight and hunt than how to curtsey and dance. Bran was almost as independent, constantly climbing the castle in all weather, despite Cat’s disapproval. But Jon . . . ah, Jon. There was no uncle in all the world more proud of his nephew than Ned was of Jon. His looks were a perfect balance of his parents, with his father’s solemn face, pale colouring and distinctive violet eyes, and his mother’s hair and build. He was as noble, honest and trustworthy as Rhaegar and Ned were, had his father’s love of books and his mother’s love of riding and swordplay, and he already cared about all seven of the kingdoms. When he had turned 13, he had gone south and, after meeting the crannogmen, met Ser Brynden ‘Blackfish’ Tully and explored the southern kingdoms, and on his journey brought justice for many, including saving one Samwell Tarly from being killed by his father due to his love of books. (In that case, he convinced Lord Tarly to send Samwell to Oldtown to be trained as a maester. The boy had learned so quickly that he had already nearly completed his chain of service, and was about to be sent to the Wall to support Maester Aemon, a distant relative of Rhaegar.)

Upon returning to the North three years after he left, Jon then turned north to the Wall and, upon hearing disturbing rumours about the return of the White Walkers, started to help train the new recruits to the Night’s Watch, and go beyond the Wall himself to discover the truth. Just two months ago, Jon discovered something that had been lost for more than a century, and fought what he called an ancient evil. Ned had yet to hear any more of the tale than that, but he suspected he would when Rhaegar next visited Winterfell. While the king stayed most of the time at King’s Landing and occasionally his old home of Dragonstone, he visited Winterfell fairly often, with the longest time between visits lasting four years due to the Greyjoy Rebellion. Officially, it was so that Rhaegar could visit his good friend Ned, but unofficially, it was so that Balerion would know his father and vice versa.

Right now he was watching as Jon and Torrhen were giving Bran archery advice between shots. Ned had to admit, his middle son had a lot to learn, as his latest shot went over the target and into the godswood behind it. The older boys laughed, but Ned quickly shut them up by commenting “And which of you was a marksman at 10?” Then, turning to his second son, he encouraged him by saying “Keep practicing, Bran.” Bran was preparing for another shot, when another arrow hit dead centre. Everyone was shocked by it’s appearance, and based on what happened afterwards, Ned would guess that it was Arya that had shot the arrow, as Bran had quickly started chasing her all over the yard. Ned could only grin at his favourite daughter, while Cat shook her head in feigned annoyance, having finally given up trying to make Arya into a Southern lady a few months ago. As such, Ned had convinced Cat to let her train in archery and swordplay, so long as she had studied with Maester Luwin as well, which is where she was supposed to be at the moment.

Unfortunately, their happy moment was broken as Ser Rodrik came up behind them saying “Lord Stark, my lady. A lad’s just rode in from the hills, they’ve captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch.”

Ned suppressed a groan at that, as the last thing he wanted was to ruin this peaceful moment for his family. But he had no choice, the law was the law, and it was his job as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to enforce the law. Turning to Theon, he said “Get the lads to saddle their horses.”

“Do you have to?” Cat asked.

Ned turned to his beloved and reminded her “He swore an oath, Cat, to live and die at his post.” Rodrik agreed, reminding her that a law was a law. Turning back to Rodrik, he said “Tell Bran he’s coming too.”

As he left, Cat said “Ned, ten is too young to see such things.”

“Cat, he won’t be a boy forever, he needs to learn such things. And Winter Is Coming,” he said, reminding her of their words. Winter Is Coming, not just a reminder that summer always fades to winter, but also a warning that the sins of summer would be paid when winter arrived.

 

When they arrived at the official execution block, the deserter sounded half-mad, always saying “White Walkers. I saw them, I saw the White Walkers.” Ned turned to his nephew and raised his eyebrow, silently asking his nephew if they had anything to do with his story of his last travel north of the wall. Jon gave a small nod, which made Ned widen his eyes in shock. Unfortunately it didn’t matter, and the boy knew it, once he had regained control of his faculties. “I know I broke my oath. And I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I’m no coward. Tell them I’m sorry.”

Ned nodded, it was the least he could do for the lad. But he still needed to do his duty. Pulling Ice from it’s sheathe, he stated “In the name of Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die.” And with a single swing of the greatsword, the young Ranger lost his head. After he talked with Bran about the youth’s death, he rode with Jon. “Did you know him?” he asked, trying to get a feel for the lad he killed.

“I didn’t train him, but yes, I knew him. I’d been in Highgarden when Will took his vow, but we managed to become friends when I did start going to the Wall. He’d been north of the Wall nearly a hundred times to hear him tell it, a hardened Ranger. He wasn’t one to panic or exaggerate, or see things that weren’t there. If he says he saw the Others, then he saw them.”

Ned stared at his nephew, slightly worried at the dark tone that he had taken there at the end. What had he seen and experienced north of the Wall? But his musing was frozen when he and Jon spotted a mountain lion lying across the road with it’s intestines spilled out over the road. “What did it?” Theon asked. “Another mountain lion?”

“If it weren’t for this one in front of us, I’d say there are no mountain lions in these woods,” Ned replied.

“Since when do any cats walk around with their claws out?” Jon asked, next to a set of tracks that led off the road. “Besides, I’ve found what killed it.” Curious, Ned and the others followed him down to the riverbank, and were shocked to find an enormous wolf half-buried in the snow, it’s muzzle torn up by the lion’s claws, and it’s throat nearly destroyed. Ned was surprised it had made it as far from the lion as it had.

“It’s a freak,” Theon stated. “Look at the size of it.”

To everyone’s surprise, Jon started _laughing_ at Theon. “Fourteen years at Winterfell and you don’t recognize a direwolf when you see it?”

Torrhen was in shock. “There have been no direwolves south of the Wall for two hundred years.”

“And now there are five living. The she-wolf’s had pups,” Jon said, lifting one up. Then he picked up each of them, and in a shocked voice said “Three boys, two girls. Lord Stark, you have three trueborn sons and two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your house, they were meant to have them.”

Everyone understood what he did there in order to convince Ned to save the pups, though only Ned and Jon truly knew why. And Ned could never deny his nephew anything. “Very well, you can keep them. But you will feed them yourselves. You will train them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.” They turned to go, with Torrhen and Theon each taking two pups and Bran his own pup.

But as they were leaving, Jon stopped for no apparent reason. “What is it?” Bran asked.

“Don’t you hear it?” Jon replied. Apparently no one could, as they all looked at him in confusion. But within seconds he came back with a _sixth_ pup, one that had a coat as white as snow . . . and eyes as red as the Targaryen dragon on their sigil.

“Huh, a runt _and_ an albino. That one will die even faster than the others would have,” Theon stated.

Jon just smirked at the young Greyjoy. “I think not, squiddy. This one belongs to me.” Ned just smiled at his beloved nephew as he cuddled the small pup and placed it on the saddle in front of him.

 

When they returned to Winterfell, Ned went straight to his favourite place in the godswood: a flat stone at the base of the heart tree in front of the lake. He could easily sit there for hours on end, doing nothing but reading or cleaning Ice, as he was doing now. But his time of peace came to an end as his beloved Cat entered the godswood. “Eighteen years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here.”

“You’re not an outsider, you have five Northern children,” Ned replied to her now familiar complain/worry. “Speaking of whom, where are they?”

“Oh, in the kitchen picking out names for those pups you found. Arya’s trying to decide between Visenya and Nymeria, Bran has no idea what to call his and Sansa can’t think of a ‘proper’ enough name for hers.” Cat smiled thinking of their children, but then her face shifted into a mask that Ned knew all too well: a mask to hide her grief. “There was grievous news today, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself.”

“What news, Cat?”

“I am so sorry, my love. There was a raven from King’s Landing; Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him, and not even Grand Maester Pycelle could save him, all he could do was give him milk of the poppy so he did not linger.”

Ned was in shock. Jon was dead? But he had been so hale the last time he had visited! He’d always thought that his foster father would live at least another ten years, if not more. “What about your sister and Jon’s boy?”

“There was no mention of them, but I would expect that they are still in King’s Landing, as always. But the raven brought more news. The king rides for Winterfell, and they should be here in about a month.”

Ned smiled as he heard the news. “Good, Bael has quite the story to tell his father from what I understand, and I expect that he’ll be going back with them. It’ll be good for him to learn how to work that nest of adders before he becomes king.” Then the second part of the statement hit him. “Wait, what do you mean a month? How many are coming with Rhaegar?” Usually when his good-brother decided to come, it would only take him a week to ride to Winterfell as he only brought a small handful of people.

“Based on the raven, I would say close to two hundred people, Ned. He’s not just coming to see Jon, he’s coming to see you as well.”

Ned and Cat both knew what Rhaegar wanted with Ned. “And what do you think I should do, my love?”

“I don’t know. Part of me says that you should go, that it’s a great honour. But another part says that it’s too dangerous. You would be Rhaegar’s third Hand in 18 years, and both of your predecessors died. But the choice is up to you, Ned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should any of you be willing, I would like some suggestions for future pairings involving Jon/Balerion, Theon and Bran. Also, if anyone knows a poison that takes months to kill, I would be extremely grateful.


	3. The King's Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first, I’ve changed my mind about Jon’s Targaryen name, and have altered it in the earlier chapters. Second, I’ve gotten some good suggestions for pairings for Theon and Sansa, (even if I didn’t go with any of the Sansa ones,) but there’s problems with the only suggestions for Jon/Balerion. Everyone assumes that Rhaegar would arrange the marriage and that doesn’t work in this story as A: the majority of Westeros isn’t aware he even exists, and B: Balerion and Rhaegar will not see each other again after Rhaegar leaves Winterfell for King’s Landing. There is another problem with the suggestions, and that is explained by Rhaegar himself in this chapter. So, I am still looking for Jon/Balerion pairing suggestions! Oh, and for Jon/Balerion’s name, it will depend on the circumstances and character which one I use. Sometimes he will be Jon, sometimes Balerion, but by the end of the events in The Pointy End, almost everyone will call him Balerion all the time. Now, on to the story!

 

**The Game Stays the Same**

**Chapter Two: The King’s Arrival**

 

　

_Winterfell, The North-298 AL-Rhaegar_

 

Rhaegar smiled as he looked on Winterfell again. Gods, but it was good to be back! It was always a relief to return to the North, so much cooler than the South, and no one up here played the game of thrones, meaning he could relax from acting like the king instead of being a friend, father, brother and uncle. But some of the others in his party didn’t understand that, one of them being . . . “Your Grace, why do we have to come up here so often?” Ser Arthur Dayne asked.

Rhaegar smiled at the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard. Being a Dornishman, he _despised_ the cold of the North. “Because Ned is the one person I can trust to be my Hand these days, Arthur. By the way, why do you never stay in King’s Landing when I visit Winterfell? I know how much you hate the cold.”

“Because the only Kingsguard Commander who doesn’t stay with his king without orders to be elsewhere is one who doesn’t like his king, Your Grace. And you didn’t answer my question, Your Grace. I asked why we come north so often.”

Rhaegar sighed, slipping back into the man he was when his father still lived. He had sent his only living child to live with his uncle for security reasons, there were still too many people who hated the Targaryens after the disastrous reign of Aerys II. And there were just as many people who would kill the both of them if it meant the end of the Targaryen dynasty and allow someone else to claim the throne. But if he couldn’t trust Arthur with the truth of his heir, then who could he trust? “You will find out when we get there, Arthur, I promise,” Rhaegar said just as they came into Winterfell’s shadow.

Then he spotted something that made him gasp. Was that Lyanna watching him? No, it couldn’t be, she was a good six years younger than Lyanna was when they met, so it couldn’t be a ghost of a memory. When he rode into Winterfell proper, he immediately spotted Ned and his family lined up as properly as any other noble family was when they were expecting the king. “Ned, I swear, if you bow to me, I’ll send you to spend the rest of the summer with Oberyn in Dorne!” Rhaegar yelled at his good-brother as he dismounted. Ned quickly paled at the thought of spending _any_ amount of time with the extremely liberal Dornishman, while Rhaegar just laughed at his discomfort before pulling him in for a hug. “It’s good to see you, Ned.”

“Same here, Rhaegar. I’m sure you remember my family,” he replied, motioning towards them.

“Of course I do,” Rhaegar replied. Turning to his left, he gave the former Catelyn Tully a hug of her own. “Cat, as beautiful as ever. The gods must have had a plan when they had me look upon Lyanna before you, because if I hadn’t, I’d have gone after you instead.”

“You flatter me, Rhaegar,” Cat said with a smile.

Turning to Ned’s left now, he looked at the eldest of the children in shock. “Gods Torrhen, is that you? You must be preparing to take over lordship of Winterfell by now.”

“I have already started, uncle. Father’s been handing over his duties for the past two years now. He’s already joking about retiring early,” Torrhen said with a smile. The young man was as clearly Ned’s as Aemon was his own, once you looked past the hair that is. Over the years it had become clear that Torrhen had his father’s sense of honour and justice, not to mention the cold demeanour to anyone he didn’t trust.

“Well, hopefully not for many years yet, eh?” Rhaegar replied. Just then he noticed the young Greyjoy in the next row of welcomers. “Keeping your nose clean, Theon Greyjoy?” he asked the young squid. Theon lowered his head with a slight blush while Rhaegar moved on to his niece, Sansa. Had he been more like his ancestors, he might have been tempted to ask for a betrothal between Aemon and Sansa. Had Aegon lived he _would_ have arranged a betrothal between _them_. But he was not his ancestors as he was completely against incest, and Aegon had been killed so there would be no betrothal. “Sansa, you’re becoming as beautiful as your mother,” he said with a smile to his niece. “Your parents and brothers will have to beat the suitors off when they come to see you.” Sansa just blushed in response.

Then came his youngest niece, and Rhaegar stopped in complete shock. “Arya? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me, uncle,” Arya replied.

But to Rhaegar’s eyes, he was seeing Lyanna as she must have looked at twelve. She looked so much like her aunt and cousin that it was almost painful for Rhaegar to look upon her. Almost. But the pain of losing his love had long ago faded, and he smiled at his niece with a warmth that was reserved for Ned, and his only son. “Has anyone ever told you how much you look like you Aunt Lyanna? And I bet the wolf blood is as strong in you as it was in her, am I right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, uncle,” Arya denied.

“Oh, so it was another girl I saw wearing a helmet when I rode up, was it?” he whispered. Arya blushed at the idea that he knew what she’d been up to. “Don’t worry, it will be our little secret. Besides, Lyanna would have done the same thing.” Then he turned to young Bran. “Let’s see, last time I visited, you wanted to be a knight, do you still want to be one?”

“Yes, uncle, I do!” Bran replied excitedly.

“Good! Arthur, what do you think of taking on a squire?”

Arthur stepped forward and took a good look at Bran. “Hmm, he’s about the right age, looks fit enough. But not right now, I’m sorry Bran. Perhaps next year?”

“Next year would be fine,” Bran replied with a grin.

“Good! In that case, Ned, I’d like to pay my respects now,” Rhaegar said. Cersei immediately objected to that, claiming exhaustion from the ride from King’s Landing to Winterfell. Rhaegar’s ancestry made itself known as he countered “Shut up, Tyrell! The Starks will take care of the rest of you, I need to see my wife. Arthur, come along, and bring the chest,” Rhaegar added. He had noticed the absence of his son, and assumed that he was waiting at his mother’s tomb.

“Arthur, Rhaegar? Are you sure?” Ned asked.

“If I don’t trust the Lord Commander of my own Kingsguard with the truth, then who can I trust?” Rhaegar asked, voicing his earlier thoughts. “He _is_ waiting for us, isn’t he?”

“Naturally, he wouldn’t miss a chance to be able to treat you as you deserve,” Ned replied. Once they were in the catacombs, Ned asked “What happened with Jon?”

“No one knows, not even Varys or Qyburn. It killed him in three months, whatever it was. It started with some bad stomach aches and weight loss, then two months later he was having trouble keeping his balance and his speech was slurred. A month after that, he slipped into a coma. Nothing that Pycelle or Qyburn did slowed it down, whatever it was. In the end, there was nothing that could be done but give him enough milk of the poppy for him to pass peacefully.” Then he spotted the one person he most looked forward to seeing when he came to Winterfell, kneeling before the statue of his beloved, who had a wreath of winter roses around her neck. “ _So, you brought flowers, did you_?” he asked his son in Valyrian.

Balerion stood up and greeted his father in the same language. “ _Of course I did, father. Uncle Ned is always saying how much she loved the winter roses. It’s good to see you again_ ,” he said as he greeted his father with a hug. As he finished, he noticed the fourth man in the catacombs, who was in complete shock. “Finally decided to let him know, did you?” he asked, switching to the Common Tongue.

“Someone outside the family needs to know who my heir is, don’t you think?”

“Agreed. Ser Arthur, my uncle has had nothing but good things to say about you, and I owe you my life. If it hadn’t been for you, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswald, I might have been dead by now. What happened to them?”

After he regained his senses, Arthur replied “Ser Gerold died during the Battle of Old Wyk, and Ser Oswell died four years ago, my prince. If I may ask, what sword are you carrying? It doesn’t look like any sword I’ve ever seen before.”

Balerion smiled at the knight. “Good eye, Ser Arthur. And that would be because this is an old Valyrian sword, one of the ancestral blades of House Targaryen. Father, allow me to present to you Dark Sister, recently rediscovered about 50 miles south of the Antler river, deep in the Haunted Forest.” Rhaegar and Arthur both watched as the young prince pulled out an old, relatively small bastard sword out of it’s sheath.

Rhaegar then took the sword from his son and examined it, noting it’s light weight, relatively smaller blade-clearly made for a woman’s hand, the Valyrian runes on the blade, and most important of all, the Old Valyrian runes, one that identified it as a Targaryen blade dating back to _before_ the time of the dragonlords, yet the blade was clearly Valyrian steel-made with the magic of dragonfire. Taking the belt and sheath that Balerion had provided, Rhaegar told his son “As you have given me a blade, it is only fitting that you receive one in return. Arthur, the chest, please.” Once Arthur brought the chest to them, Rhaegar explained “First, you should know that there are two gifts in here for you. One is for your name day, the other to prove that you are my heir when the time comes.” Opening the chest, Rhaegar pulled out a bastard sword and presented it to Balerion. “It has taken Varys many years to track this down, but I present to you, my son, the _other_ ancestral Targaryen blade, Blackfyre, in honour of your name day. May it serve you as well as it did Aegon the First.”

“Father, I’m overwhelmed, but curious. If this is my name day gift, then what is the proof that I am your heir?” he asked, while examining the sword. Like it’s sister, it was made of Valyrian steel and had it’s name carved into the sword with Old Valyrian runes, but that was where the similarity ended. For this sword was a true hand-and-a-half or bastard sword, longer than the longsword by a good six inches, yet smaller than Ice by eight inches in length and three inches in width. The perfect balance between a sword to be used in the open field or the close-in fighting that could happen while sacking a city.

“Something that is as purely Targaryen as the direwolves are Stark, my son. You may choose one, the other two are going to Viserys and Daenarys as a wedding gift,” Rhaegar explained as he opened the chest again, only to reveal three dragon eggs. “They seem to be made of stone, but from what I’ve read, all dragon eggs are like that.”

Balerion perked up at his father’s statement. “Wedding gift? Are Uncle Viserys and Aunt Daenarys getting married?” Rhaegar had told him of his aunt and uncle about ten years earlier and made sure to update his son whenever possible.

“According to Varys, Viserys has arranged a marriage for Daenarys to a Dothraki horselord, one Khal Drogo in exchange for an army.”

“An army? Why would he want one?”

“Remember how I told you that they believe Robert Baratheon won at the Trident and is hunting them because they are the last Targaryens? Viserys wants an army to ‘retake’ Westeros from ‘the Usurper.’ Since the Dothraki are some of the finest warriors in Essos, I suppose it makes sense to him.”

Bael nodded, before looking at Dark Sister again and picking out the black egg. “Father, in that case, would you send Dark Sister to Aunt Daenarys as a wedding gift from me? I think that it would suit her best, and it would let her know that there is family that’s worried about her.”

“Gladly, and if you don’t mind me asking, why the black egg?”

“Because of all the great dragons in the history of Valyria and House Targaryen, the only two that we know the colours of were black: Smaug and Balerion.”

Rhaegar smiled at his son before turning to his friend. “Ned, you obviously know the other reason I came here, but to make it official, Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you Hand of the King. And don’t you _dare_ bow to me!” he commanded as he noticed Ned start to kneel.

“Your Grace, I’m not worthy of the honour. Why ask me?”

“First, how many times do I have to tell you to _never_ call me ‘Your Grace’ in private? We are family. Second, I’m not trying to honour you, I’m trying to get your help to run my kingdom, _and_ discover why Joffrey Tyrell and the Baratheon brothers all seem to think they will be my heirs. As for why you, you are the only person in all Westeros I can trust. The only men on my Small Council that I trust are Arthur here and Varys, oddly enough. Stannis and Renly want my crown, Pycelle was the one who convinced my father to open the gates for Tywin, Baelish just screams untrustworthy, and Cersei keeps herself in the capital in order to openly plot against me for Joffrey. Who else can I trust but family?”

 

_King’s Landing, The Crownlands-298 AL-Petyr_

 

Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish loved being one of the few men in Westeros that seemed to know what was happening across the continent. Only Varys surpassed his knowledge, yet he had discovered something that truly vexed him: neither of them knew _why_ the king was so often in the North. Ten visits of varying length in the eighteen years he had been king, and none shorter than a month! That was more visits to the North than the other six kingdoms combined! Why was he going to the North so often? Until he knew the answer to that, there was no way he could implement his plan to take over the Seven Kingdoms. Sure, Jon Arryn was dead, but that had been a simple test of the concoction he had made after realizing it didn’t do anything else. Seven hells, why was alchemy such a difficult art?

What could he do to create the chaos he needed in order to advance his own position? The best thing to do would be a civil war, the more sides, the better. But how to cause it? With no clear heir in Westeros, the Baratheons had the best claim, and neither would bow to the other. Fortunately the Tyrell’s ambition, best personified in young Joffrey meant that they would support Joffrey and Renly Baratheon, making at least three sides, with Stannis standing alone, Renly with some of the Tyrells and Joffrey with the rest of the Tyrells and, of course, the Lannisters. But how to manipulate the Starks into joining the war? The best thing to do would be to have the Starks go against the Lannisters, but how? Then inspiration struck: hire some lowlife and have him attempt to kill one Stark or another, then pin the blame on the Lannisters. The best way to do that would be to use his special dagger. It was so unique that there was no way the Stark’s wouldn’t suspect his assassin of being hired by someone. Petyr smiled a very evil smile, his attempt on the throne would easily succeed, no one would ever suspect him of being behind the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, a quick question for those with a different view on Jon’s parentage. Now, Jon was born around the end of the war, about the same time as Robb and Dany. Tell me, how is it possible for Ned to have fathered Jon with Ashara Dayne when the Tournament at Harrenhal, the only time they could have possibly been together, was a good year before the war began? The woman that took him from the Eyrie to the Vale I could possibly see (other than the fact that Edric claims them as milk brothers, and it makes no sense for Ned to take a baby down to Dorne, and of course, Ned’s honour.) Really, Rhaegar and Lyanna make the most sense, and are the only ones that really fit the time allotted for his birth.


	4. Winter Is Coming

_Winterfell, The North-298 AL-Bael the Bard_

 

Bael the Bard, (or as he was more commonly known, Mance Rayder,) was quite proud of himself. He had easily won the trust of Rhaegar with their shared love of music, and found that he liked the man, much as he did his son. Right now, like Rhaegar, he was enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell, much like his namesake had once done, though he had no plans on stealing one of the Stark girls. Moreover, thanks to the feast, he was now safe, despite his new allegiances and betrayal of the Watch.

As the bards and other entertainment were only asked for after a feast, Mance decided to mingle among the crowd of visitors and get a feel for the Starks of Winterfell as well as this dragon king and their subjects. Everyone talked about how Rhaegar seemed to have no respect for the Tyrell woman, despite the power of her family. Personally, Mance could understand Rhaegar's position all too easily. It was men and women like this Cersei Tyrell that kept the Free Folk so divided, playing this game of thrones in order to advance their own position in the tribes, and to keep the tribes fighting for supremacy.

"Hello, Rayder, what are you doing here?" a familiar voice demanded.

Mance turned to greet his friend. "Your Highness, it's good to see you again. I hoped to see your father and speak to him of what we found north of the Wall."

Balerion shook his head. "Only speak to him, Mance?" he asked, his amethyst eyes twinkling in amusement. "And here I was thinking that, being the bard that you are, you could sing him the tale of our adventure." Then he turned to Rhaegar and called out "Your Grace, I have found a bard with a new song to be sung, a true tale to be told for the first time."

"Then let us hear it, my lad. Bael, sing us the song," Rhaegar commanded with a toast.

Mance glared at Balerion, furious that he put him in this position. At least the lad was right, he had prepared a song for their encounter. Turning to face the southern king, Mance stated "First, Your Grace, I would ask a boon of you and Lord Stark. I ask only that I be allowed to return home in peace, as I know there are at least two people here that would gladly take my head after I left the safety of Winterfell's walls." Targaryen and Stark both gave their words, and, taking up the lute, Mance started his song.

He sang of how the King Beyond the Wall stumbled on a ranging party of the Night's Watch and worked with them, quickly becoming friends with a prince masquerading as a bastard who had not taken the vow. The party continued moving north through the Haunted Forest until one day they stumbled on a cave, where they took shelter for the evening. There, they were attacked by wights, reanimated dead men with eyes as blue as ice. Caught unprepared, the Watchmen were quickly killed before the prince burned them, destroying them. The two friends and the one remaining ranger kept watch that night, knowing that danger could come at any moment. The next morning, a ranger discovered a Valyrian sword stuck fast in the rock, and none could remove it except the prince. He recovered it just in time, as the cold winds came blowing through, and with it, the second ranger was killed by a White Walker. The King Beyond the Wall attempted to stab it, but the Walker caught his sword in it's hand and the sword shattered into a million pieces. The prince was the next to attack it with the Valyrian sword, and when the prince stabbed the Walker, it seemed to turn into the ice it was made of before _it_ shattered into a million pieces. From there, the three men went their separate ways; the ranger to report to the Old Bear, the prince to report to his father, and the King Beyond the Wall to rally the Free Folk in order that they might seek shelter south of the Wall.

" _For when the cold winds rise,_

_And the dead rise with them_

_No man is safe._ "

Rhaegar nodded solemnly at the end, accepting the song as truth, especially after Benjen Stark confirmed the tale. "Well, now I understand the request for the boon, Bael the Bard, or should I say, Mance Rayder?" Mance simply nodded at the king, acknowledging his southern counterpart. "Then it seems my visit to Winterfell has yet another purpose. On the morrow, we shall discuss the future of your people."

 

_Winterfell, The North-298 AL-Bran_

 

The negotiations took a few days, and ended with the Free Folk being guaranteed land south of the Wall, provided they agree to follow the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, and Mance was given a royal pardon. But that didn't matter much to Bran, the duties of being a lord bored him. What _did_ matter was the revelation that his bastard brother Jon wasn't his brother at all, but his cousin, and Uncle Rhaegar's son to boot! He even had a dragon's egg from Uncle Rhaegar, though it was as cold as stone to the touch. Pity, he had hoped it would be warm, like a dragon's egg should be.

Today though was the last day that Uncle Rhaegar would be at Winterfell, as he was leaving the next day for King's Landing, and Father would be going as well! Even more exciting than that, Sansa, Arya and Bran himself would be going as well! That just demanded a climb in celebration, so Bran decided to do one that he hadn't done in a long time: the First Keep, the oldest part of Winterfell, or at least, the oldest part still standing. He quickly made the longer, and more fun climb from the godswood, and was shocked to hear voices in the First Keep. Creeping closer, he recognized the voices as Ser Jaime Lannister and his twin sister, Cersei Tyrell. "Cersei, you can forget it. I'm through helping you and your obsession with that damned thing. Rhaegar has made it clear that he has already chosen his heir and no one will change his mind or convince him to reveal his choice."

"And how does he intend to reveal his choice?"

"It's all written up in his will, which he has kept completely hidden. And no, Cersei, it's impossible to forge a new one naming Joffrey. I've seen the will, and the only way you could forge a duplicate is if you have access to the unique Targaryen wax on Dragonstone, and to the Targaryen signet ring, and you know how likely that is."

Cersei sighed as she answered "Impossible. That damnable Targaryen reads _everything_ before he signs and seals it, and Stannis thinks _he's_ going to be the next king. What about eliminating Selmy or Dayne? If they were gone, then who could possibly support his chosen heir?"

"Eliminate _them_? Cersei, why the rush to commit treason? It's not like Rhaegar is going to die in the next year. Besides, the only way to kill them _now_ is poison."

"I want them gone so Joffrey can take over all the sooner. Think of it, we could establish a dynasty that would last a thousand years. Besides, Garlan is going to die soon and I don't want Father to try and sell me to Rhaegar again."

Bran nearly slipped at that, shocked to hear the Lannisters speak so about his uncle. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that caught the attention of the Lannisters, and Ser Jaime caught him. "Are you completely mad?" Bran tried to pull away, but Jaime did his best to calm him down while Cersei kept complaining that he heard them. "I heard you the first time," he told his sister before seeing what Bran had done. "Quite the little climber, aren't you? How old are you?"

"Ten," Bran answered.

"Ten? Seven hells," Ser Jaime whispered. "Will you give me your word not to speak of what you heard?" Bran nodded his head. He would keep quiet, fortunately he never said for how long. "Good, then get going." Bran followed his advice and instantly fled the tower.

 

_Pentos, The Free Cities, Essos-298 AL-Daenarys_

 

Daenarys was not enjoying herself, despite the fact that she was at her wedding. Her brother, Viserys had sold her in exchange for an army of Dothraki horsemen in order to retake the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros from the Usurper, Robert Baratheon. She could not argue with him, not when several assassins had come after them, but she hated the fact that she had been sold, especially to someone like Khal Drogo. Even worse than the fact that she did not know him was the fact that he seemed to revel in death, he had smiled at each of the eight deaths that had occurred during their wedding ceremony, and it was supposed to last another two hours.

She had just watched another man die when a man in Westerosi clothing came with three packages. After greeting Drogo, he turned to her and said "A few gifts for the new Khaleesi, two of them from your family in Westeros. From myself, songs and histories from the Seven Kingdoms."

"Thank you, ser, but I have no family in Westeros. Are you from Westeros?"

The man looked in shock when she said she had no family in Westeros, but answered her anyways. "Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. I served your father for several years, and I continue to serve your brother even now."

Viserys scoffed at that. "I've never seen you before in my life."

"Nor I you, but I was speaking of your brother Rhaegar, whom they call the Bard King." Then, making a quick decision, he set down the chest, saying "These are from him to you, princess, as a wedding present." Curious, Dany opened it only to find "Dragon eggs, princess. Found by your brother on Dragonstone. Two of the last known eggs in the entire world. The third was given to your nephew, Balerion Targaryen."

Viserys scoffed again. "Rhaegar died at the Trident, and I have no family outside of Daenarys. And anyone who says otherwise is either a Blackfyre or a spy."

"Would a spy or a Blackfyre send you gifts, especially dragon eggs or this?" Ser Jorah asked, pulling out a beautiful, almost feminine sword made of Valyrian steel. "This is from Balerion for you, princess. This is Dark Sister, one of the ancestral blades of House Targaryen. Balerion recovered it from the wilderness north of the Wall."

"That's not possible," Viserys whispered, realizing that the blade actually was what Ser Jorah claimed. Dany personally didn't care who the gifts came from, she was going to learn to use that sword. If she was going to be a khaleesi of the Dothraki, then she would be one of the most respected khaleesi, as much a warrior as her husband.


	5. Foreign Visitors Arrive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I still need help deciding the future of Theon and Jon. It doesn't matter to me either way what happens to Jon, but where Theon goes will decide the fate of many. So again, does Theon go to the Iron Islands as in canon (with a different ending,) or does he go south to Renly? Oh, and I have one more chapter to write before I hit the events of 298 AL, after that, well, things will start changing. Or rather, changing even more.

_High Heart, Riverlands, 281 A.L.-Harry_

 

When they came to after their hard journey, and checked on Hermione and Daphne's health, Harry and the rest of the group looked around to see where they were. Around them were about thirty stumps of a white wood that almost seemed to bleed, and just to the southwest was a small castle. Curious, Harry decided to take Medusa and explore the castle while the others stayed behind. Dressed as he was, and carrying Medusa, Harry quickly gained the attention of everyone in the town, which he quickly learned was called Acorn Hall. Due to his style of dress, Harry was quickly brought before the lord of the town. "Greetings, and welcome to Acorn Hall. I am Lord Theomar Smallwood, and I welcome you to my home. Might I ask your name and business?”

Harry bowed and introduced himself. “Greetings, my lord. I am Lord Henry of House Slytherin. I, my family and friends have been forced from our lands and country due to a civil war. I hoped that we could find shelter and food until we can continue our journey.”

“Lord Slytherin, you and yours are welcome in my home,” Lord Smallwood replied. So Harry returned to the others and together they returned to Acorn Hall for a feast in their honour. “Lord Slytherin, would you mind introducing your companions to us, and telling us how you came to be in Westeros?” Lord Smallwood asked early in the feast. All eyes, especially those of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun turned to the strangers in their midst.

“Gladly, Lord Smallwood. This gorgeous brunette next to me is my beloved wife Hermione of House Granger with my son James and ward Edward ‘Teddy’ Lupin. My blond companion is Lord Draco Malfoy and his wife, Daphne of House Greengrass. Now, our country recently suffered from a civil war and because of our unique positions in the war, we were forced into exile lest we be executed.”

“Unique positions?” Tully asked. He was extremely curious about these strange visitors, especially as he had heard nothing about them until today. He would have to write to Arryn and Lannister to see if either of them knew anything.

“I was spying on the rebels, pretending to be one of them, and Harry was the commanding general of the loyalists,” Draco explained. “I managed to lead the rebels into a trap, while Harry dealt with the leader of the rebellion personally. However, as a result of that, Harry became very popular, and the government turned against us a few years after the war ended. We only barely managed to escape with most of our fortunes and our families. We came here hoping to find a place where we could start over.”

Hoster considered it before answering “There is very little land in the Riverlands that is left unclaimed. The best places you could go is Highgarden to speak to the Tyrells, or Winterfell and the Starks. The North has vast reaches of unclaimed land, so that would be your best bet.”

“Our thanks, Lord Tully,” Harry replied. The rest of the feast was spent educating the newcomers on the two high lords they sought the favour of, and the history of their houses. That night, the four adults discussed where they should go and unanimously voted to go north.

 

_The Twins, Riverlands, 281 A.L.-Harry_

 

Over the next few days, the six magicals worked their way north through the Riverlands, visiting Lord Tully at Riverrun and learning from the maester there about the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Once they had learned the basics, they continued north until they arrived at the Twins, a pair of squat castles on either side of the Green Fork guarding a very strategically important bridge, the only crossing of the Trident north of the Ruby Ford and south of the swamp called the Neck. The Twins were held by one Lord Walder Frey, a man whom Hoster said had no honour at all. “Harry, you’re mad if you think we should visit this man. He’ll probably try to kill us for our money,” Draco objected.

“Exactly, and that is why I am the only one going to see the _Late_ Lord Frey,” Harry said with a malicious grin. Draco and Daphne both caught the emphasis that Harry put on ‘late,’ but only Draco understood what it meant, and shivered in response. There were times when Harry scared him.

Harry was quickly welcomed into the western castle and was the guest of honour at a feast that night. “My thanks to you, Lord Walder,” Harry said with a toast, though he hated to do so. Lord Walder reminded a great deal of Argus Filch, one of his greatest enemies at Hogwarts. “I have only rarely had a feast such as this one. But I must ask, where is the Lady Sarya? I had expected that your wife would join us.”

“Unfortunately my wife is too ill to join us right now,” Walder replied. Merlin, he even _sounded_ like Filch! “Might I ask where _your_ wife and companions are? Although you are new arrivals, everyone knows that you travel with five companions, including two children.”

Harry grinned as he began to set his trap. “Oh, they chose to camp near here while creating a boat to cross the Green Fork. They had heard of your unfavourable reputation from Lord Tully and listened to him. I didn’t think it important so I came here. Oh, and speaking of reputations, is it true that your words are _We Exact Our Toll_?”

“Aye, they are. Why do you ask?”

Time to bait the hook. “Because what you may not have heard, Lord Frey, is that I managed to escape with all my wealth. And as I was the heir to three rich noble houses, as you can imagine, it is a large sum of millions of gold pieces. I was wondering what the toll would be for tonight, and crossing your bridge.”

“And um, how could you possibly carry such a large amount, my lord?” The fish was circling the bait, wondering if it was real.

“One of the many wonders of my home is the ability to enchant our purses to be as light as a feather, no matter how much is in there, and the ability to enchant it to be bottomless, allowing it to hold an entire fortune if necessary.” The worm gave a nice wriggle, tempting the fish to come and bite.

“And how much would you say the ‘toll’ is worth?” Good, he’s starting to nibble.

“Oh, I’d say at least fifty gold pieces, though that could go up depending on the quality of the room I get for the night.” _Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly._

Walder took the bait, giving him the best room in the castle, and then sending Ser Emmon Frey and three of his brothers to kill him in the middle of the night. They quickly attacked the golem in the bed before Harry called out “Greetings, gentlemen. You fell for my trap hook, line and sinker. _Medusa, kill them all. Everyone inside the Twins is to die,_ ” he finished with a hiss. Then he turned to the Freys and stated “Goodbye, gentlemen, and good riddance.” Medusa slid out from around Harry’s waist, expanded to her normal size (she was about twice Nagini’s size,) and quickly killed the four Freys before slithering out of the room. By the time the sun had risen, the western castle was a graveyard, and by midday, the entirety of House Frey was destroyed to the last man. While Medusa was slaughtering the Freys, Harry was creating a new room in the cellar of the western castle, a room that only a Parselmouth would ever be able to open, and he dumped all the bodies in there. Once Medusa had finished her work, Harry gave her a permanent home in the riverbank before welcoming Hermione, Teddy and James to their new home.

 

_Winterfell, The North, 281 A.L.-Draco_

 

Draco had been horrified at what Harry had done at the Twins, but he completely understood why. Though what he did was horrible, a family as dishonourable as the Freys could never be trusted. And on top of what Hoster had told them, they had tried to murder a guest! Besides, who among them was worthy of being spared if none of them tried to save Harry from the plot? Well, while Harry spent his time remaking the Twins in his image, (and avoiding Hermione’s wrath,) Draco was going to swear his loyalty to the most honourable man in Westeros, by all accounts. According to Hoster, the only dishonourable thing that Lord Eddard Stark had ever done was cheat on his wife (Hoster’s eldest child,) one time, resulting in a bastard son. _Muggles_ , how do they live without contraception? Then again, maybe that was why they outnumbered wizards a thousand to one? Eh, something to think about later, especially as he was now nearing Winterfell.

“Halt! Who goes there?” the sentry called from the walls.

“Lord Draco Malfoy with my wife, come to speak with your lord.”

A mere fifteen minutes later, Daphne was conversing with Catelyn Stark, and Draco was meeting with Eddard in his solar. “Now, Lord Malfoy, may I ask where you come from and why you are here? I must confess that I have never heard of House Malfoy before.”

Draco smiled at the younger man. “That would be because I am from a realm that you have never heard of. My family was the lords and ladies of a land called Wiltshire in a kingdom called Great Britain. Britain was recently torn by a civil war, and because of my part, I was forced into exile along with a good friend of mine.”

“And what part did you play?”

“I was a spy in the rebel army, and my friend, Lord Henry Slytherin was a leader of the government forces. Unfortunately, my friend became too popular, and the new Minister claimed that _he_ was going to rebel against the government, and as such he was forced to choose either exile or death. I was forced to do the same because I was Harry’s closest friend and ally. Now, I am hoping to rebuild my life here, given the opportunity.”

Ned thought about it for a while, then made his decision. “Lucky for you, I need someone with some experience to help me out. So, if you help me, I will help you. I need someone to help me administer justice in the North, especially when it comes to disputes between the lesser lords. Serve me for a few years and swear an oath of loyalty and I will give you lands in return. Do we have a deal?”

In response, Draco pulled out his sword, knelt on one knee to Ned and swore “By the gods of this land, I will to my Lord Eddard Stark be true and faithful, and love all that he loves and shun all that he shuns, according to the laws of the Gods and the order of the world. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to him, on condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it, and that he will perform everything as it was in our agreement when I submitted myself to him and chose his will. So mote it be.”

 

_Dreadfort, The North, 285 AL-Draco_

 

After four years working for Lord Stark, Draco had become widely known as the Justice of the North. As blind as Justice herself, many people preferred to go to him to have their cases heard instead of their local lords, for he was as fair and nonjudgmental enough to be loved, yet harsh enough to be respected. And now, he was starting a case that he had hoped to gain for years: investigating the Boltons of the Dreadfort to see if they still practiced flaying. Naturally, he couldn’t do so as himself, he would be recognized instantly, so he put on one of several rings that he had enchanted after he swore his oath. As soon as Ned had said that he may need to settle disputes between lords, Draco had enchanted several rings with permanent glamour charms, each with a different look. Hmm, the Weasel? Tempting, but the only family that Draco knew with red hair were the Tullys, so that was out. Finch-Fletchley could work, his looks were fairly common in the North, so Draco decided to go with that.

With that decided, Draco snuck into the Dreadfort and started studying the place. It absolutely _reeked_ of Black magic, Evil, pain, torture and death in a way that Draco hadn’t experienced since Voldemort, but this was far older than anything Voldemort had done. It had seeped into the very soil of the castle. This was magic so potent that the castle could never be purged of it. No, it was so bad that if the Boltons were guilty, the castle would need to be burned to the ground, and then the ashes reburned in order to purge the darkness. Unfortunately, that was as far as his thoughts took him before a blow to the back of the head knocked him out.

 

Draco was awakened thanks to a bucket of water being splashed in his face, and for a moment, he thought he was back in Hogwarts and had overslept again . . . until he noticed that he was tied to a St Andrew’s cross. “What do you want?” he asked the youth on the opposite side of the room.

The youth pulled a knife out of his cloak, grabbed one of Draco’s fingers and said “I want to do this.” The boy then took the knife and started flaying the finger, causing him to scream out in pain. But as terrible as it was, it wasn’t the worst thing he had experienced. The flaying wasn’t as bad as the Cruciatus, and he needed to know if Roose Bolton knew about this.

The torture continued as a man took a large screw and started sending it through his foot, until a voice called out “Domeric, that’s enough for now. We don’t want to completely break our guest yet, do we?” Draco turned to face the man, and immediately recognized the pale, hard man facing him. Now he had his proof, the only question now was how far did this state affect the Dreadfort’s people?

 

A week, one destroyed back and one flayed lower arm later, and Draco knew that at least twenty people were involved, and had identified all of them, including Roose and Domeric Bolton. Oh, he’d need some serious healing afterwards, but he had accomplished his mission, except for one thing, an eight year old boy who occasionally cleaned the room he was tortured in. He didn’t know the boy’s name, but he seemed compassionate. Finally, today the boy spoke to him. “I can get you out of here,” he promised. “Where do you want to go?”

“Winterfell,” Draco whispered.

“Winterfell? What are you doing here then?”

“I work for Lord Malfoy, the Justice of the North,” Draco claimed. “And if you can get me out of here, I promise you will be spared.” That, however was not a lie. Being a Slytherin, he was far from above bribing others to get what he wanted, and as long as he was tied to the cross, he couldn’t apparate or use his portkey to escape.

“I’ll come for you as the castle sleeps, then.”

 

That night, the boy came and unbound Draco before giving him a drink of water. “If you can’t ride, we don’t stand a chance,” he warned him.

“I can ride. What’s your name?”

“Ramsay, Ramsay Snow,” the boy answered. They quickly escaped the dungeon and Ramsay brought a horse. “Ride east, Lord Bolton will never expect you to go that direction.”

“Why would he expect me to go any direction?” Draco asked as he rode off. He didn’t miss the sadistic smile on the bastard, and shuddered at the sight of it. He hadn’t seen a smile that sadistic since his Aunt Bellatrix, and that terrified him. What was the boy up to?

 

A few hours later, and Draco had turned north towards the Lonely Hills after having traveled west, directly against what Ramsay had suggested. After seeing that look, so scarily similar to his Aunt’s, Draco had decided against following his advice, and so far it had proved to be a good idea. Until a few arrows were shot at him. Fortunately Ramsay managed to save him by shooting his pursuers, then guiding him through the woods. The lad then guided him to what Draco could only assume was a secret entrance to Winterfell. “Why are we sneaking in? Lord Stark and Lord Malfoy will protect me.”

“Lord Bolton is visiting Winterfell right now. If he saw you, he’d have you killed before you could testify,” Ramsay explained.

Draco could understand that reasoning, but he knew that the boy was lying. He couldn’t sense the unique magic of Winterfell . . . but the bloody magic of the Dreadfort. He turned on the boy and threw him against the wall. “You’re lying, you bastard! You’re not just some servant, you’re the Bastard of Bolton, aren’t you?” Draco demanded. The boy gave that same sadistic grin, just as there was a flash of light, and both had disappeared.

 

_Winterfell, The North, 285 AL-Harry_

 

Harry smiled as he greeted Daphne for the first time in four years. “It’s good to see you again, Daph. How have you been?”

Daphne smiled at her pseudo brother-in-law. “Quite well, Harry. Draco and I have had two children already. I would like it if you met them,” she finished with a smile. Instantly, two children came out. The oldest, no older than four shocked Harry, as he looked _exactly_ like a young Draco, while the girl, who couldn’t have been more than a toddler looked a lot like Daphne, though with her grandmother’s blue eyes. “My oldest is Scorpius, and my daughter is Cassiopeia, Draco insisted on the names.”

Harry grinned at that. “I’m not surprised, Blacks have a tradition of naming their children after stars.”

“Believe me, I know. Do you have any more children, or is it still just Teddy and James?”

“Actually I have two more, Albus and Lily.”

Daphne’s eyebrows shot up at the first name. “Albus, like Dumbledore? I thought you hated him.”

“Oh, I do, and while Al shares a first name with him, he’s definitely not named for him. Al is actually named after home. Albus means ‘white,’ after Albion, the white land. So, where’s Draco?”

“Right behind you, Harry,” Draco said with a smile. Harry turned around and gave his best friend a hug. “Merlin, but it’s good to see you, and such perfect timing, too. You’re about to see one of my most devious tricks at work.” Just then, there was a flash of light that Harry knew all too well from portkeys, and an eight year old boy appeared, along with . . . Justin Finch-Fletchley? Soon, other portkeys activated, and about twenty people appeared, including Lord Stark and Lord Bolton. “My Lord Stark, may I present to you Lord Bolton, Scion Bolton, Ramsay Snow and his people, guilty of flaying and torture, of this, my loyal servant.”

Within minutes, all those brought before Lord Stark were convicted and beheaded, and as a reward for bringing it to his attention, Stark gave Draco the Dreadfort, to be held by the Malfoys for the rest of eternity. Harry followed that a few days later by vowing his allegiance to Lord Stark before preparing to leave for home. But before he left, Harry confronted Draco in private. “Draco, I know that wasn’t Justin, so who was the victim of the Boltons?”

Draco gave one of his traditional smirks. “Why Harry, I know you’ve heard of a golem. Justin is just one of many such golems I have working for me. And the best part is that they take so little magic to maintain that I can have dozens of them throughout the North.” Harry just shook his head at his clever friend before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the crossover has officially begun, I hope that satisfied you for now. Now tell me, who among you couldn’t see Walder Frey trying something like that? Millions in gold and all he’d have to do is kill a single guest and a couple strangers outside his castle. There are very few that wouldn’t try that! Yes, Harry was harsh, but remember, this is a very dark, very Slytherin Harry, one who didn’t hesitate to slaughter more than a dozen Death Eaters with enchanted bombs, made certain to taunt them before killing them, and has personally killed several Death Eaters himself with Dark Magic.


End file.
